


minus three

by toewsyourheart



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Comfort Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 09:13:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10241333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: “You're being quiet,” Jonny remarks, leaning as close as the armrest between their seats will allow, to prop his chin on Patrick’s shoulder.He’s honestly not sure why Jonny’s pointing it out. It's late. They lost. The whole fucking plane is quiet.What's there to chat about?





	

**Author's Note:**

> set after the detroit game.

“You're being quiet,” Jonny remarks, leaning as close as the armrest between their seats will allow, to prop his chin on Patrick’s shoulder. 

He’s honestly not sure why Jonny’s pointing it out. It's late. They lost. The whole fucking plane is quiet. What's there to chat about? 

“So?” Patrick huffs with a dismissive shrug, nudging him off. 

Jonny knows he didn't play well. Anybody with two working eyes in their skull knows he didn't play well. It feels like shit. Their last game at The Joe should've been better than that. He should've been better than that. He’s not in the mood for a come to Jesus about it. 

Jonny should know that, too. 

“Hmm,” Jonny grunts, and the silence that follows is annoying enough to make Patrick glance over at him. 

Jonny's already watching him intently, concern etched into his brow despite the soft, teasing smile playing at the corner of his mouth. 

“Christ,” Patrick breathes out, “What?” 

“Nothing,” Jonny replies innocently, and Patrick rolls his eyes. 

He's sure as hell not going to drag it out of him, so he says, “Whatever, man,” content to leave it at that. He didn't want to fucking talk to begin with. 

He shifts away out of spite, and just as he raises his arms to put his headphones back on, he meets resistance, Jonny’s fingers circling his wrist. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Jonny protests. “Don't.” 

Patrick throws it right back. “You don't.” 

“I'm not! I just…Come on, Patrick.” Jonny reaches for the armrest with one hand, slipping the other beneath Patrick’s curls to massage the back of his neck, slowly loosening all the place he's wound too tight. “Let's put this thing up, and we can just…” 

Patrick relaxes into his touch, and as much as he wants to stubbornly twist away from it and pout for the rest of the flight, he wants Jonny and that peace only he can give him more. 

Always. 

“...You know you want to,” Jonny adds, so sure of it he's already lifting the divide. Patrick releases the last bit of defiance he's got left in an agitated groan, and as soon as there's nothing left to separate them, he sinks into Jonny’s broad, warm chest. His arms instantly wrap around Patrick's shoulders, hands roaming over his back and fingers tangling into his curls. 

Patrick buries his face in Jonny’s neck and breathes for a while. Just breathes. 

In and out. In and out. 

Slowly, deeply. 

Until— 

“Next time is my turn for snuggle after loss,” Artemi giggles, presumably headed back to his seat from the bathroom or something. “No favorite.” 

The comment, Patrick can only guess, is directed at Jonny, but truly aimed at him. 

What a little shit. 

“Keep walkin’ asshole,” Patrick barks without looking, and Jonny chuckles along with Artemi, the vibrations in his chest shaking them both. Patrick can't help but smile too, because really, what a little shit. 

“Feeling better?” Jonny asks, pressing a single kiss to the top of his head. 

“There's always room for improvement,” Patrick answers, intentionally vague. He knows what he wants. 

Jonny tightens his hold on him, then lets his hand ease down Patrick’s back to skim at the edge of his waistband, because he knows, too. “We’ll see what we can do when we get home then.” 

Patrick draws in a deep, shaky breath, and counts each second as it ticks by. 

+

Jonny pushes into him in agonizingly slow, deliberate increments, just a little at a time, to let Patrick adjust. 

He's on his back, arms spread out, just as his thighs are splayed open, hands gripped firmly in the sheets. His eyes are closed in focus, his teeth biting into his bottom lip, and he's thoroughly savoring every inch of Jonny inside him, the satisfying stretch. 

It's not happening fast enough. 

Patrick lets his fingers delicately trail down Jonny's chest on the way to his entrance to teasingly skim the place where Jonny’s smooth, hot skin is disappearing inside him, deliciously bare. 

“More,” he demands, each advancement of Jonny’s cock erasing the disappointments of the night, dulling Patrick's loud, nagging thoughts to easily forgotten whispers. 

Jonny curses under his breath and slams home with a quick snap of his hips, always eager to please. Patrick’s startled gasp tapers off into a ragged moan when Jonny grinds in-in-in before stilling entirely, deep to the hilt. 

Patrick can feel his heat everywhere, inside him, blanketing him, consuming him. He blinks his eyes open to find Jonny impossibly close without touching him, face hovering just inches above his. 

There's no sound but their combined breathing. No movement but their heaving chests, aside from Jonny’s fingers, combing through Patrick’s hair, brushing his temples, smoothing over his eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose to his lips. 

After he traces each one, eyes dark and hungry, Jonny kisses him, tender and coaxing, leaving Patrick surging up to chase him. He sucks on Jonny’s tongue, licking into his mouth with his own, until he's panting with it, arms wrapped around his neck and holding him close.

Jonny breaks away to drag his lips along Patrick's jaw, down his neck and chest, exploring his body with wet, biting kisses. “You know, Peeks…” 

“Hm?” 

“Nobody in this league…gets that pass across tonight…but you.” 

“Don’t,” Patrick warns, clenching around him and tugging at his hair. Unbelievable. Jonny's balls deep and holding out on him for this. 

Un-fucking-believable. 

“I mean it, baby,” Jonny continues around a whine, breath tickling Patrick's neck. There's no way he isn't itching to move just as badly as Patrick wants him to. He clenches again to make it worse. 

“Your vision out there,” Jonny gasps, “Your hands. Fuckin’ unreal. Gets me so hot for you.” 

Patrick stifles his moan, because if Jonny thinks it's working, he won't knock it off, and if Patrick’s going to last long enough for any actual fucking, he needs Jonny to move his hips and not his mouth. 

“Nobody better.” 

Patrick can’t take it, and instead of arguing, he sets out to inspire some action, bracing his hands against the headboard for leverage and pressing up with his feet as he desperately tries to fuck himself on Jonny’s dick. 

“You're cheating,” Jonny groans, matching him with a hard thrust of his own, and Patrick cries out. 

“You're fucking torturing me, fuck me!” 

Patrick's not one to beg, but goddamnit, he's crawling with it, aching for the slick drag of Jonny’s cock inside him, balls throbbing. 

“You feel so good, Patrick,” Jonny tells him, frantically getting with the program so Patrick can relax and let go and give in to him. He wraps his legs loosely around Jonny’s waist, and as Jonny pumps his hips faster-faster-faster, harder-harder-harder, everything else falls aways. 

All his fuck-ups, turnovers, missed chances, and minuses. 

Patrick only feels Jonny, earnestly giving every ounce of himself to him. Each place where they touch is healing, electrifying, the sensation building-building-building, as Jonny drives into his prostate with every push inside. 

“Right there, Jon,” Patrick pants, forcing his eyes open to look at him. He's gorgeous, every muscle taut with exertion, sweat glistening on his forehead. He bites his lip over and over, and Patrick wishes he was in the position to do it for him. “Don't stop, baby, don't stop.” 

“M’not. Can't,” Jonny grunts, head down. “This gonna get you there?”

Usually it does. Sometimes it doesn't, and Patrick needs a hand. 

Tonight, it will. 

“Fu-u-uck yeah, it's gonna,” Patrick stutters, nearly out of his mind. “I'm so close, it's right—” 

Patrick loses it all at once, shouting curses mixed with Jonny’s name as he shoots up his stomach. He takes his dick in his hand because he can't help it now, fucking into his fist as Jonny fucks into him, showering him with praises. 

“You're so fucking sexy, Pat, look at you. I've never seen anything like you,” he rants on, slamming in with another hard thrust before Patrick feels him swelling inside him, then coming with a garbled moan. “O-Oh my god.” 

He lowers his body onto Patrick, chest to chest as he rocks in twice more with hard, deep pumps of his hips, taking Patrick's mouth in another kiss that mimics them. Patrick tangles his fingers in Jonny’s hair and holds him there, even though he can barely breathe. 

“So good, Jonathan,” he murmurs into his mouth, absolutely spent. “Just what I—” 

Jonny slows his hips, rolling them to their sides while careful to stay in, and they breathe together, labored and rough, until it eases. 

Patrick feels loose, thoroughly and perfectly fucked, and so gone for Jonny, it’s utterly ridiculous. 

He kisses him again, gentle and languid, to communicate how much he loves and appreciates him, and when that's not enough, he tells him, too. 

“You're always exactly what I need—” 

Jonny smiles against his lips, brushes their noses together.  

“—and exactly what I want, too.” 

“Guess that works out then, huh?” Jonny says, and Patrick wonders, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, how he managed to get so lucky. 

It's unlikely he’ll ever figure it out.

“Yeah, babe, I guess it does.”

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @[toewsme1988](http://toewsme1988.tumblr.com) or twitter @[seabsneckbeard ](https://twitter.com/seabsneckbeard).


End file.
